My hart klop groen vir groei
en ander goed
en pomp van hormone
en suurtof ryke bloed
dit was liefde
met eerste oog opslag
dis net jammer my oe staar blind
teen die mes in jou hand
wat op my kaal rug wag.

Dis 'n gan an soort klop
die go-ahead van my kop
die alles sal reg wees
in jou glimlag
jou oe die mandaat
van 'n regte terg gees.

en ek gaan vir die groen
en silwer en goud,
vir al die goeie goed
vir die land sonder fout.

Maar my hart is die
Andries Hendrik Potgieter
van my boere bloed
wat waarsku teen jou
met alle moed.
My heldersiende hartklop
wat my weg probeer lei
van nog 'n ou grappie
en nog 'n bietjie seerkry.

Nou klop hy rooi
hy klop bloed
hy klop stop.

Maar soos 'n GP kar
vermy ek die tekens
in my haas vir jou mond.
Voel die lem deur my ribbes gly
dood, nog voor die grond.

en my hart, wil lag,
maar skree verwoed.
Nou kook die boerebloed!
Jou simpel, jou wetter
jou bogsnuiter kind!
Snou my hart my toe,
nou is hy stil en
gee my die silent treatment.

🧭Ik kan me niet meer voorstellen
     met welke fout het begon.
     Maar ik weet wel dat ik het
     met mijn eigen krachten overwon.

🧭Maar nu weken later
     denk ik echter.
     Doe ik het nou zo beroerd
     of ben ik gewoon niet zo'n vechter.

🧭Want steeds stapje voor stapje
      tikt de klok mij aan.
      Het is zo verwarrend
      *** laat de zal wijzer slaan.

🧭Ik begon in het Nederlands
     maar toen ging ik echter plat.
     naar blijken is ruw zijn
     nog veel erger als glad.

🧭En welke taal ik ook spreek
     of welke ik niet kan verstaan.
     Er is op dit moment gewoon
     geen ene bal meer aan.

🧭Over ballen gesproken
     Rond, groot en klein.
     Maar waarom rolt de mijne niet?
     Het zal wel een ovale zijn.

🧭Of ligt het aan de wind
     en waait hij continue naar west.
     Of hier in het noorden
     werkt dat dan niet best.

🧭Ik kan honderd dingen denken
     maar schijnbaar niet dat ene ding.
     Want waarom val ik in de put
     als ik er daarnet nog boven hing.

🧭Ik denk dat ik een gokje wagen kan:
     het is de innerlijke kracht.
     Ik was overtuigd dat ik sterk was,
     word ik daarom neer gebracht?

🧭En toch ben ik wel overtuigd
     dat ik vol zit met wil en moed.
     Maar dat ik toch nog twijfel
     niet over een ander maar wat ik zelf doet.

🧭Waarom is het in het oosten
     niet zoals in het westen.
     En waarom zijn er boeren
     die zo onlogisch gaan bemesten.

🧭Het hele doel is toch
     om het land goed te maken.
     Waarom zul je dan zonder duidelijkheid
     je mede mens afkraken.

🧭Wat heb ik toch zo fout gedaan
     dat de wereld toch zo doet.
     Nee absoluut ik deed ook fout
     maar, momenteel bedoel ik goed.

🧭Hoop toch dat de mens nu ontdekt
     dat ik veel goed wil doen.
     Maar nogmaals ik begrijp het niet
     waarom is het ineens anders als toen.

🧭Ik bedoel, ik ben ook maar mens
     Iedereen maakt toch weleens een fout?
     Of ben ik de enige
     zonder peper of zout?

🧭Had graag willen weten
     wat de echte reden was.
     Maar waar ik ook woon, merk ik
    dat ik leef zonder duidelijk kompas.

🧭With full heart: Diegó. P. Siemsen.🧭

Il y a plus de faiblesse que de raison
À être humiliés de ce qui nous manque.
Vauvenargues.


Or, je suppose que nous sommes,
Madame, dans votre salon :
On parle chiffres, rentes, sommes :
« Je suis le plus pauvre des hommes,
J'ai dans ma bourse un seul doublon »,

Vous dis-je, tout-à-coup, sans cause.
Cela vous fait ouvrir les yeux,
Et vous me dites, un peu... rose ;
« Que c'est bête, un homme qui pose
Pour être pauvre et que c'est vieux !

Posez plutôt pour être riche,
Ce sera tout aussi hideux ;
Mais dès l'instant que l'on s'affiche,
Il vaut encor mieux, ... » Je m'en fiche !
Je veux, moi, poser pour les deux,

« Comment, pour les deux ? » Mais, sans doute ;
Supposons qu'à travers les bois
Nous ayons l'une et l'autre route.
Ou bien... deux cloches... qu'on écoute...
Pour toutes les deux à la fois.

Oui, pour deux qui seraient comme une
Au bourg de Fouilly-les-merdeux,
Dans le clocher de la Commune ;
Laquelle, n'étant pas commune,
Serait, je dis bien, comme deux.

Ou comme cent, ou comme mille...
Ça dépend de la qualité.
Mon doublon, lui, n'est point débile,
Et les marchandes de la ville
L'ont trouvé bon, en vérité.

« Mais, si vous aviez la paire, est-ce
Que cela... ne vous dirait rien ? »
Si !... j'en ferais part... à la Presse ;
À la condition expresse
Que je conserverais le mien.

Car, une quelconque, de paire,
Serait-elle trois avec six
Zéros, alignés par Ampère,
Je m'en fous comme de mon père,
S'il s'en fout comme de son fils.

« Vous allez trop ****, prenez garde !
On pourrait se moquer de vous.
Vous criez plus fort que la garde.
Voyez, je crois qu'on nous regarde.
- Puisque je vous dis : je m'en fou ! »

Et tenez ! sortons... dans la rue,
Ou mieux... dans votre appartement,
Vous pourriez faire, toute nue,
Si vous le passiez en *****,
Baisser les yeux au régiment !

Eh bien ! pour vous donner la preuve,
Que je ne suis rien qu'un... doublon,
Quand vous seriez pucelle ou veuve,
Nous allons le f... à l'épreuve.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Quand je vous dis, il est très bon.

Quelqu'un qui jamais ne se trompe,
M'appelle juif... Moi, juif ? Pourquoi ?
Je suis chrétien, sans que je rompe
Le pain bénit à son de trompe,
Bien qu'en mon trou... je reste coi.

Je sais juif, ah ! c'est bien possible !
Je n'ai le nez spirituel
Ni l'air résigné d'une cible ;
Je ne montre un cœur insensible.
Tout juif est-il en Israël ?

Mais si juif signifie avare
Économisant sur le suif,
Sur l'eau qui pourtant n'est pas rare
Sur une corde de guitare,
Je me fais honneur d'être juif.

Je prends pour moi seul cette injure,
Quoique je ne possède rien ;
Je me l'écris sur la figure
En trois mots, sans une rature ;
Voyez : je suis juif. Lisez bien.

Regardez-moi : ma barbe est sale
Comme en chaire un prédicateur
Qui vide une fosse nasale,
Et j'ai l'aspect froid d'une stalle,
Dans le temple où prêche un pasteur.

Moi, juif, je mens, je calomnie,
Comme un misérable chrétien,
Lorsqu'à tort il affirme ou nie,
Ou qu'il dispute, ô vilenie !
En parlant du mien et du tien ;

J'adore un veau d'or... dans ma bague,
Le veau qu'on débite en bijoux ;
Au seul mot d'argent, je divague,
Comme le catholique vague
Qui ne se passe de joujoux ;

Moi, fils de ceux qui portaient l'Arche,
Je ris, et je laisse périr,
Je perds la foi du patriarche,
Comme tout un peuple qui marche
Vers l'ombre où le corps doit pourrir.

Moi, juif, je doute de mon âme,
Moi, juif, je doute de l'Amour,
Je ne suis sûr que de ma femme,
(N'est-ce pas étrange, Madame ?)
Comme bien des... maris du jour.

Car elle se fout de la vogue
Qu'a tout argument inventé
Par notre science un peu rogne ;
Elle aime mieux la synagogue
Si fraîche, dès l'aube, en été.

Elle est blanche, elle a sur les tempes
Une perruque où rit sa fleur ;
Faite à souhait pour les estampes ;
Quand elle adore sous les lampes
Dans ses voiles d'une couleur ;

Elle se consume en prières,
Conservant, sans en rien verser,
L'eau de ses croyances entières,
Car... une douzaine de pierres
Ça suffit pour recommencer.

Jérusalem les garde encore,
Salomon les reçut du Ciel
Qu'avec des larmes elle implore ;
Comme une juive que j'adore,
L'épouse de Nathaniel.

Ce qu'on admire fort sur elle,
C'est l'honneur de faire de l'art
Par une pente naturelle,
Pas pour vendre son aquarelle,
Ni pour manger un peu de lard.

J'ai pu contempler sa peinture,
Dans une salle au Luxembourg :
C'est très bien peint d'après nature ;
C'est avec l'eau, sous la toiture,
Ça me semble, un coin de faubourg.

Sur la cimaise elle est sous verre,
Je puis donc y mettre un baiser
**** des yeux du gardien sévère ;
Bref, l'art charmant qu'elle sait faire,
C'est, comme il sied, pour s'amuser.

Cela ne fait l'ombre d'un doute
Pour tous, dans la société ;
Oui, ma belle Mignonne, écoute,
Elle pourrait épater toute
La pâle catholicité.

Tiens ! En veux-tu rien qu'un exemple ?
Que le sultan soit décavé,
Et trouve sa poche bien ample :
« Vends-les-nous, ces pierres du Temple »,
Et Notre-Seigneur a rêvé !

Je suis juif ! ah ! ce nom m'inonde
De sa plus sainte émotion !
Souffre que pour eux je réponde :
La plus noble race du monde,
Ce sont les juifs de nation.

Eux, au moins, ont du caractère ;
Ils sont, oui, par les traits de feu
Du Décalogue salutaire,
Le plus grand peuple de la Terre !
N'est-ce pas vrai, ça, nom de Dieu !

Sotte habitude, oui, sur mon âme,
Bonne au plus pour les ateliers ;
Excusez moi, si je m'en blâme.
Et si vous m'entendez, Madame,
Que je me prosterne à vos pieds.

De toestand is kritiek,
ik kan er niet goed tegen,
voel me bijna ziek
en kan niet meer bewegen.

Fout, mis, verkeerd,
heb jij dan niks geleerd?
Niets wat je doet is goed,
je ligt onder je eigen voet.

Want al die commentaar
komt van pruiken zonder haar,
komt van keepers zonder goal,
tomtoms op de dool.
Je hebt het zelf voor het zeggen
waar je bij kritiek de nadruk
op wil leggen.

or how some h'american don't ever
say: Worcester sauce... or Lea... or Perrins...
or: who's?! woo-ster
sau-sausage... ******* whittle-****...
worse off than... worst-shire-in-the-pronunciation...
rubric... Worcestershire... which is: woo! woo!
woo-steer left! ah ha ha!
sort of a bit like a sot of a bit like:
Gloss... ter... tier? no... TER ******* TER...
gloss-over and a tear...
Gloucestershire! gloss-T: gloss-tear...
no: not tear: tier: no! not tier!
akin to per say: gloss-ter...
shire... **** tongue fiddly... almost French...
write one way... speak it another...
it's also woo: woo... ah woo! like a wolf: pseudo-bark...
ah-woo! woo... mister...
   prime minister...
      this language is a ******* jumble...
phonetically a Slav like me always finds it sort of
funny...
painfully...
             Woo! Woo-ster-sos: sauce... who the **** needs
these extra vowels? sos... no, not s.o.s.:
sos... why the ****... sauce?!
     where's the u the c and e?
the same retards that say: too many consonants
in the ****** writing...
same ones, i.e. same retards who can't spell
jack-**** in InG_LEASH...
                    sowwy... but your zunge has...
too many vowels jumbled up together...
you don't ******* write as you speak...
no... you don't...
       you write one way... speak another...
it's confusing this little ******* silly me...
   then again: there's no point...
most Anglophone speakers are retards to
begin with... teach them...
the complications of writing:
THOUGHT...
o.k. sure... F-O-U-T...
fout... or... FOWT... that's better... FOWT...
that's thought...
so... from FOWT...
T and H *******... U too...
  G is nowhere to be found... nor is the H...
wow! what a fascinating language...
i can... truly come in... and post-modernise it!
truly... i can come in and... rumble...
shake it a little... because...
like i've already noted...
anyone left-wing in the Anglophone world...
no... you're good...
i don't want to understand you...
i will not understand you...
     if i were to choose between **** Germany
and the Communism of the Russians...
6 years versus 45 years of a brain-drain?
guess... go on... give it a guess!
             Hugo Boss... GRAU WERHMACHT
Anzüge!
            oder... SCHWARTZ!
                 but it's so pleasingly
fiddly... this tongue... no diacritical markers...
hell... i can come in and take a ****
and also cite... those Pakistanis of Rotherham
having a stranglehold on...
whatever an English woman is, these days...
not much...
      because my impulses within the confines
of Darwinism have, been, insulted!
trans-gender *******...
but my frame i can't lie about...
but if i have to... that's an insult to merely seeing...
calling me ******* blind!
i don't like being insulted...
ridiculed...
   i don't like being challenged by retards...
you give me a capable opponent...
akin to a Kasparov... o.k.: you... reduce me...
to... being levelled to... orientating myself
around... a ******* euthanasia march of...
******* disease?
now i'm grinding my teeth...
i'm scheming...
   i don't like my intelligence to be insulted...
****** didn't like his creative talent
to be insulted, either...
i don't like being made to be:
accommodating... conscientious...
      bulls don't charge at seeing red...
they charge at seeing FUSCHIA...
bulls have UV vision... i'm seeing ******* FUSCHIA...
i'm grinding my teeth...
knives are testimony... but... they're...
sloppy...
   not enough space or numbers...
me? i'm tired...
   the mediocre idiots can smile, giggle... bless
their gentle... non-soul... body-tombs...
whatever... i've started building up
a... blutdurst! a blood thirst!
     it's: unbefriedigend unverzeihlich...
unforgivably unsatisfying!
   so much yuck... ugh... grunts and schemes of
averting pressuring an onomatopoeia...
such is the tongue...
no diacritical markers...
what's to be expexted?
the apostrophes... come: who's?!
with ' i.e. hide the i?
            *******... Velsh steward... sort... of... "guide"...
yeah... nice nice... corn needs to be clapped about;
while poetry needs to be written
by people at the end of their mortal tumult...
that's when you, ******* start!
that's when! safely guarded by...
not having to *******... drop dead
and ******* fail! that's when...
you start writing... "poetry"...
that's best! no no... that's the best time...
to... find relief in... scribbling *******'s worth
of rhymes... that's what you do... by then!
people have become...
so... *******... irrelevant...
spasmodic... queer... oddly...
almost... ******* on themselves...
   like... i'd like a conversation with a zombie...
or... a robot... but i'm getting... example X...
pseudo-humanoid itch... i'd rather speak with
a robot... or a zombie... but... you're giving me...
what?! this is, this is a... human?!
i'm joking, or are you, joking?!
        
    no, no! don't allow me to speak to a human
being... whatever the hell that means...
please! please! let me speak to a zombie!
or an oyster! or a robot! a.i. synthetic language
simulation: generator... "thing"...
people are too ******* ugly when...
no no... they just: "pretend" to be stupid...
they do... until...
they sense they can overpower the interaction...
oh... then they're ******* smart...
******* savvy..
        that's when i see:
    time to ****.

A notre premier rendez-vous , dis !
T'oublieras pas d'amener tes poupées
et ta corde à sauter et Robinson Crusoë
et moi c'est promis je ramènerai mes billes, mes osselets
et Vendredi.
On jouera au cerf-volant aussi c'est promis.
S'il y a du vent
Et s'il fait beau et qu'on en a envie
On fera du toboggan et on jouera à chat perché.
S 'il pleut on se mettra sous un porche et on jouera aux cartes.
tu sais jouer aux jeu des sept familles ?
sinon on pourra toujours essayer
les petits chevaux ou le jeu de l'oie.
Je te laisserai jouer avec mes soldats de plomb
et j'espère que tu me prêteras pour la journée
Ta dînette pour que je te prépare
Une menthe à l'eau ou un diabolo fraise.
S'il fait trop soleil
On se mettra à l'ombre
Et je te lirai les lignes de la main
et je te montrerai ma collection de timbres roumains.
Et s'il fait nuit et qu'on voit des fantômes
On se cachera sous les couvertures
Je t'apprendrai à faire de la bicyclette
Et des cocottes en papier
tu verras c'est fastoche
Et ça fout les chocottes aux fantômes !

Ah j 'oubliais ! J 'amènerai ma fronde aussi
Pour te dégommer de l'arbre une mangue bien mûre
Qu'on dégustera tous les deux en même temps
Et on promettra-jurera-crachera qu'on est amis pour toujours !

Normaal gezien van rechts
en links gezien als slechts
een fout van de natuur haar hand.
Maar ik heb ook nog recht op voorrang
zelfs al kom ik van een andere kant.
Als de kletsen de bocht om komen scheuren,
heb ik altijd nog mijn tweede ****.
De derde en de vierde kan je kussen
als je de voorkeur van een ander gaat betreuren.

hmm... come to think of it, is dyslexia a truly unique
phenomenon bound to the English language,
or could it be stretched toward the French tongue?
i don't know... but i've never heard of a dyslexic ******:
i have heard of a ****** with terrible orthography skills...

well i do speak a barbaric language, there is a clarity of
letters and syllables where i come from,
there's none of that sort of *******
that: is written THOUGHT but is said:
F... FOUT... that seems about right...
              it must be a French "thing"... maybe that's
why i never learned it... that phonetic dissonance
of writing one thing then speaking another...

sure, very barbaric of me for clarifying what's
written and what's being said...
French is bad, English is also bad...
German just compounds their words
to make them appear chemistry dictionaries...
maybe why English still retains the Pomeranian
aesthetic of compounded words,
akin to hydrochloric acid... oh! wait wait!
where's the hyphen?! ****! where's the hyphen?!
why isn't it hydro-chloric acid?!
Oxford, wake up... please do, when you do:
let me know...

oh but i'm writing this without expecting any change...
the people, so far, can, simply, *******...
i don't actually mind... all these "objections" are
for my own personal amusement...
i like minding these things without actually worrying
about them to the point of changing them...
like... i'm not going to read anything concerning
English thought... philosophy, etc.
beside Newton & Hume... no, not even Locke...
i don't know why... perhaps the roads are the best
in Europe... perhaps the English are a people that are
the most practical and don't necessarily have to think...
let them speak: ******* love to speak...
but thinking is not really their hard-on point
of concern...

the English are a practical people...
but it infuriates me... Charles Dickens... what orthography?
you're not using diacritical markers?!
that's just a nicer word: a misnomer of calling
a spelling mistake a: spelling mistake!
******... Charlie: yo! ******!
you have, your having paranormal, your metaphysics...
you don't have ORTHOGRAPHY if you don't don't
have diacritical markers...
for example, can you hide an H within the word:
SHARP? can you? let me help you out...
       ŠARP... see that?
see how i hid an already surd of a letter that's H?
ask a Heb... Hebrew... one arm of the tetragrammaton
is a surd: vowel receiver... the other hand
is the basis for the definite article and laughter: ha ha! ha!

but like i already commented to someone before:
living in England among English girls...
****** this that number and so many... none of them English...
well then... they must prefer their anti-racist preferences
of Pakistani men that might groom them...
Pontius Pilate pose... what?!
my hands are tied...
free will, no?!
                        and all i ever wanted was to be loved by
a woman... given the current climate...
can i get a cat instead?!
i'm not going for android ****-buddies...
down to the brothel... once every half a year...
or whenever i feel like it...
when, i, feel, like, it...
not when she's expecting me to be turned on...

that ship has sailed and the last time i heard:
it's sinking...
mein gott, these supposed alpha male **** boys...
you know how hierarchies work on the ape level...
right... on the human level a woman will walk
up to me and tell me: can you please take care of
"Andrew": he seems to be wandering off...
i don't need to earn an x amount of money to keep in
mind: we're here to prevent another Hillsborough
incident, aren't we? i usually receive glum looks
looks that read: i'm just here to get paid
i have no duty to uphold... well **** me...
alpha male... this Greek alphabet soup that became
doubly exemplified with the Covid delta...
omicron... what ******* letter are we on
in the hierarchy of men?
what letter are the women on?

             the way i see it: ensure everyone is included...
esp. the ******: fringe-bracket...
i'm not even a ******* supervisor but i'm asked
to be mindful of other people...
what the **** do we do, except, for the best part...
loiter? pretend that we're doing something...
8th February... Fulham FC vs. Millwall...
i'm gagging to be pitted against the Millwall fans...
i want to show my teeth and rolls my eyes back
to show nothing but the whiteness of my sclera...
hopes are high: expectations are low...]

NO, **** FOR  FREE?
NO! YOU IDIOT FUCKINBG...
WANKERs! *******..
****** CRAB CRAB SCRATCHERS...
alpha male **** boys... does *** have to be on
my mind so-much-so-frequently than is expected?
do i have to harbour this fluorescent
insomniac libido, do i have to play along
to the gimmick of a Duracell bunny?!
come, on! i've checked out modern ****...
it has gone so bad that i'm actually looking up
vintage 1970s Italian ****...
i don't watch the modern stuff... it's ugly... it's perverse...
once upon a time there was a feeling
of art around performing *** for an audience...
these days... ugh... all that gagging all that slobbering,
spit... *** has become: truly... unappealing...
what i do with prostitutes looks and sounds better
than the **** i sometimes encounter
then subsequently quickly turn off: because, it's,
a ******* TURN OFF...
the more liberated people became the ******* ***
they tend to perform...
and i implore my readers to transfer having
read some Marquis de Sade...
but this stuff... if women want to be ****** like they're
being ******... with no pseudo-Tantra escapades...
no... i'm not doing that...
give me a Turkish prostitutes that is still the only
woman in the vicinity who knows a little
about setting boundaries and i'll take that...

*******, once upon a time... had an allure...
these days it's just block-a-chop
see you at the butchers' market...
let's chop up some pork 'ops...
   it's ******* disgusting... no wonder i don't want
to watch it...

imagine getting your kicks off listening to
portrait of m.r boogie - christopher young -
from the movie sinister... imagine yourself being good...
seeking out... an archetypical role of / for evil,
because... the current state of affairs of "evil":
is... somewhat mediocre... tame...
tame by the comparison associated to the mid-20th century
Germans, or the isolated instances of Wankee
individualism stressed by that glorious bunch
of psychopaths...
    
modern *******... for, ****'s, sake...
i have to dig out old Italian ****** to get a thrill
of how ******* doesn't have to be all about
a teenage girl with down's syndrome slobbering
and crying out her mascara... or that everything
that's heterosexual is **** related...
can i please just ******* on my bicycle,
feel the cold wind, feel the cold?
can i please just do that?!
******* so old it sort of reminds you
of a period of cinema best associated with Singing in the Rain...
when the talkies first came in, the jazz singer
and what not... i sometimes watch *******
so old that they have "dubbing": voice-actors that
compliment the *** workers since
the *** workers have terrible sounding
onomatopoeias when they ******?!
that's how far back i'll go, because this modern crap...

sure... i do have a fetish for...
gloryhole bukkakke thrills: Robespierre would have been
so proud... less decapitated heads...
more de-membered phalluses...
squirting out yoghurt juice... anonymously...
i can't say i'm even into the lesbian ****...
modern ****... alias of too much blah blah...
mommy this, daddy that...
there is just a massive undercurrent of ****** running
through it... i feel sick...
talk during *** is already bad...
i was tested at work concerning this...
the women i work with asked me whether it was...
ahem... "polite" to refer to someone as "daddy" during
***... you're ******* kidding me,
was my reply... not the exact words but,
ergo implied... who talks during ***?

you want a slobbering ****** at the end of your
popsicle... drooling spit, gagging... crying mascara tears from
the ******* or do you want something sensual?
this modern crap is... i'd rather watch a horror movie...
at least seeing makeshift conjuring of a monster
would give me more... erm...
"whereabouts"? but people, do this ****, to themselves...
no one forced them to do this...
they do this of their own accord...
i'm happy that i'm not earning the sort of money
that might associated with being tempted by
gynocentric broads...

i'm free... i don't need a validation mechanism...
having enough *** is not a social status...
i frequent the brothels whenever i feel like it...
if having *** implores me to think that
i am living a completed life... seriously?!
   how much VIAGARA are you popping?!
how do you deal with the expectations...
i consider the concept of the Greek alphabet soup
according to... brotherhood...
these part "alpha" **** boys know ****...
can you be part of a group, including the ****** males...
can you keep them accommodated?!
no one is stepping out of line,
someone is in control: even though they are
hierarchically below some supposed said: "supervisor":
some senile ***-whip?
yes? no?!              well then...
are you talking with everyone on the ground...
everyone o.k.? it's all Indiana Jones happy for all?
yes?! no?!

alpha buck ****-boy deluxe...
if ******* women was my sole modus operandi...
why would i custard my head thinking about
Newton?!
that's all there is? *******... erm... would be nonces...
existence... can, be, orientated... around...
the... non-existence, of, women, should, such, demands...
be, made, necessary!
you know what it takes?
just look at an old woman...
a woman you could never, possibly,
be attracted to...

she most probably has her "****" sorted...
time, the balancing aspect of all things...
why the Greeks never associated some demigod
to time: perhaps they had... but i'm just too lazy to know of him,
her... it...
i do have a concept... the rich thinking that
they own everything...
there is a Hadean Debt...
you, do, know, that... this life is on loan?
right?! and the resources you're using...
you, didn't... generate, yourself?
so you do know, there's a Hadean Dept?!
the debt owned to Hades?
you do, know that, no?

you didn't create the coal...
you didn't create the atoms, nor the wind...
people have become as sloppy governing people
as they have become...
having... unaesthetic ***!
what am i even writing?
        bet keep this within the confines of having
written too much, i'd appreciate it immensely
that people do not reach this rambling episode...
of course i'm not going to delete it...
but it's hardly anything worse than tabloid journalism...
sure, i sometimes turn on the ramble-mode...
how would you feel...
being 35 and unloved?
           there would be some venom in your words...
Teutonic monk song can only get you
this far, after a while a sleeping beast comes
to the fore... wounded, proud -
i can see old age and it's not a pretty picture:
i'll sooner do off with myself than reach that
rubric... there's no competition when it comes to old
age... i'm not sticking around...
i've already located the crux points on my body
where the arteries are... a sharp stab of the knife...
in my right armpit... just above the right side
above the collar bone... i'll bleed out...
unless... drinking takes me sooner...
**** this *******...
    i'm done with playing nice: although i'll still
play the nice... but not being loved by a woman...
take me! mother, sea!
take me! in a storm!
               take me, the night! let me marry death!
fickle peasant girls that might subsequently
require a plumber...
in my age gap that's all that's left...
single mothers... who were the fathers?!
if there was... ha ha... one... i'd be surprised...
worthless alcoholics... maybe i should have taken
the approach i took to my maine *****...
two of them... i once found a hot **** in my bed...
o.k. changed the sheets... beat both of them:
who done it?! who done this loaf of scrappy peanuts
in my bed? meow! both received a beating...
second time... caught in the middle of the act...
ah... you little *******... you're going to ****
where you're later going to sleep?!
smack... smack... later washed him,
wrapped him up in a towel and mummified him...
"mummified": tied a bathrobe really tight around him
with clips... sat him on a table in the garden
while hanging up the washing...
maybe i should have slapped a woman once or twice...
maybe then they might have stayed...
i feel ill thinking that this might have been
the correct modus operandi...
even though i smacked my cats about for *******
in my bed... who's in my bed, right now?
the two cats i smacked about for ******* in my bed...
well... one of them did... now we're pals...
i sit on the windowsill, he sits on the windowsill...
we greet each other with a head-****...

it's sad, though... to keep a woman one might have
to resort to mild violence... slap her a little...
oh **** me, no... no...
   i'd rather be a monk...
i don't do well around fickle creatures...
you're either part of a legion, a cohort... or you're a *******
rebellious outlier that can be duly ignored
and disregarded...

esp. with the modern ****... i don't watch it...
i have to sieve through and find the classical
1970s Italian ****... when *** was a joy
and not an endurance test for gagging *******...
no... just... no...
            even with prostitutes i do my best
to be tender... this current bollocking works ill on
the eyes... right... so a Billie Eilish tells you that she's sick
of modern ****...
i'm a "nobody" and i can tell you the same...
so much heterosexual *** orientating itself around
****...
can't i just poke an oyster?!

then again: do i have to always be *****? do i need
a libido insomnia on top of an actual insomnia?!
what am i, a ******* Duracell bunny?!
jiggy-jiggy-jog-on-constant-hard-on-androidd?!
maybe the "alpha male" **** boys can play that role...
solipsistic vectors of this world: egoists...
make sure they get pampered first...
but try to get as many normal people and weirdos
on your side to satisfy a service...
      of sure... those **** boys will be right up there
in authoritative roles trying to make everyone inclusive:
never demeaning the presence of creature less than they...
yeah...

          they'll be up there... alpha male **** boys...
pistons... clogs in a vaginal machine...
   not much to go around being an artist,
or a plumber, let the dust settle... until it can be governed
by a next whirlwind.

Je kousen zijn aantrekkelijk,
je schoenen zijn zo stout.
Het is me wat, bedenkelijk en
je houding, die is fout.

Heb je al gehoord *** de zeven
leven als het slachtoffer
van *** klevende doekertjes.
Ze hebben zich laten vangen
door opgelijnde zoekertjes.
*** pootjes zijn gaan hangen
en *** loopbaan is gaan staan.
Van verbeelding niet veel over,
mogen jullie spreken met een traan.
Voor mij liever drie enkeltjes, naar zo ver
mogelijk, of als het gaat, de (volle) maan.